


Not ready to lose you today

by stopthedimples



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, F/M, Fluff, Make Up, One Shot, five parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:42:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1398460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopthedimples/pseuds/stopthedimples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times it could have been. And then one time it couldn’t be anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not ready to lose you today

I.

The first time he’s watching you pace through the apartment, tossing clothes into a bin and shoes towards the front door, thumping against the cold metal. He listens to you mumble about how you don’t understand why he still hasn’t ‘found a place for those goddamn boots that don’t even fit him’ but he doesn’t actually make a move on the couch to stop you.

He watches shoe after shoe smack against the front door, missing the actual shoe basket by a foot. But he knows better by now, every time you fight he keeps his distance, without the yelling there is no reason for it to continue. He’ll wait until you pop in a Disney move and tuck your feet under his thighs on the coach.

And then he hears it – the dark sultry sound in your voice, echoing off the thin walls of your shared flat.

“Where are my brown flats Louis?” Your voice still a whisper, a thin strand of hair falling down in between your lashes and the black frames of your glasses.

He shrugs his shoulders and pulls his hands into his lap – for once he really doesn’t know where they are. “Why do you need them anyways? Don’t you think the door has had enough abuse?” He lets a chuckle slip passed his lips, and quickly tucks his chin when he sees that you didn’t think it was funny at all.

Sometimes he feels so much love for you that he want to eat your face off; other times, he'd like to kick himself in the balls and pretend that he was still a single lad out with the boys. He shakes the thought from his head and watches you stomp away. 

He could stop you – job after you through the flat and yell about the fact that those are his shoes too and he can put them wherever he pleases. Because this is what the fight was about right? At least that is what he thinks it’s about, but what if it isn’t? What if you head is in a whole new place?

Shit.

Okay so he gets off the couch, he can feel the tingle in his toes and his heart is racing unusually fast. You’re fighting yeah – but he still wants to make sure that you’re okay.  
When he makes it to the room there isn’t a tingle in his toes anymore there is a low rumble in his throat and a pounding in his ears.

“What are you doing?” He shouts, stepping into the room, taking a clump of clothes into an enclosed fist. “Why is the closet open? Where did this suitcase come from?”  
He’s yelling before he even realizes what is coming out of his mouth, the words not connecting with his brain. 

“The suitcase! What are you doing with that?” He gasps, reaching into the suitcase and pulling out his own hoodie. “This is mine.” 

He watches you prop your glasses up in your hair, a tear straining to leak out of your eye. “I’m leaving – I was taking it with. I’m not sure if I could actually go without you. A sweater isn’t much at all. You know, but I just think.”

He’s more frightened with his mind does in fact catch up with him.

You’re leaving. 

“You’re not leaving.” He whispers, dropping his sweaters and crossing the room quickly, pressing the length of his body against yours. “You can’t leave.”  
II.

“You told me I couldn’t leave.” You whisper into the dimly lit room when he stumbles over a pair of shoes by the front door. “Do you remember that. You pressed into me and told me over and over that I couldn’t leave. That you loved me.”

He watches the way your shoulders tense across the room from him. He watches the way they slump again when he starts making his way into the kitchen towards you. He can’t see the tears at first, because your voice is so calm. 

But when he gets closer he sees them falling onto the slick table top. 

“That’s what you said to me. That I couldn’t leave. And I didn’t because I loved you too. But now it takes you two days to come home. Why?” 

He watches you wipe a you face and get up and make your way over to the kettle. That’s your kettle. Together. He used to chuckle when you’d call it ‘ours.’

“You said loved.” He murmurs, although the room is dark you can’t see the second step he takes in your direction. 

“Yeah? So.”

“So does that mean you don’t love me anymore? It’s past tense. You used past tense.” He sighs when you put a cup of tea in front of him, stirring in the sugar without talking again.  
“I still love you.” You frown, sitting next to him on the cushioned bar stool. “You should know that. But it gets harder to love you when you’re not here. When you don’t come home.” You take a minute to poor milk into your cup, and it’s harder to reached passed him for the sugar because you can feel the hair on his arms tickle yours when you pass.  
“I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone else in my entire life. But fuck Lou – you won a Brit last night. That’s amazing. But I was here – by myself while you kissed pretty girls on the cheeks and got drunk. I mean where does that leave us?”

"Well," he huffed, pressing his cup to his lips and gently placing it back on the counter. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

You didn’t know that you felt that way either. You didn’t even know that the words were tumbling out of your mouth until they had been said. You’d fought before but never actually thought about – this.

“I don’t know okay. I know that I wanted to be there last night. I did. But we can’t go back now can we?” You whisper, turning in your seat to run your fingers behind his ear. “I’ll make more tea and we can talk. Yeah – figure this out.”

He nods for the feeling of his lips on yours. 

He’s sure it will all work out. 

Hopefully. 

III.

“This movie is dumb.” He whispers, letting his arms circle around your waist and his lips ghost over your neck. “I mean who even thought this was a good script. I mean I get it, but it’s just another one of those cop movies. They’re all just guns and sex.”

You nod your head with a grin across your face. “Yes. Guns, sex and violence. I like it okay.” You laugh pressing back into his chest. 

The movies plays silently for a while, your mind racing uncontrollably. The cop in the movie is working for whatever he can do to protect his family. His two daughters who are just about to go into high school and his wife. The woman he says is the love of his life.

“Louis.” You whisper, tilting your head towards his. “Can I ask you a question?” 

He lets out a muffled yes into your hair, before nuzzling back in.

“Where do you see us in five years?”

He ponders for a moments, “Well I’m going to take the latter and say that me and the boys are still together and hopefully on oh I’d say album five or six. I guess I’d move out of the flat, maybe get a house like Zayn did, possibly – “

You shake your head quickly interrupting. “No Louis, where are we going to be in five years? Like me and you.”

“Oh. Well I don’t know love.”

“Why are we together then? You don’t even see us together.” You sigh.

“Hey no. I don’t know I mean I don’t know what we’ll be doing or where we will be. You know – but I think we’ll be together. I’m sure of that.” 

He leans down to give you a quick peck, but he’s brought into whatever it is that you’ve felt throughout this damn movie, and he’s sure this is what your relationship is about.  
He’s always said it but your kiss like a champ. You kis like it's an Olympic event and you’re trying to bring home the gold to reunite your war-torn country. 

It shouldn't surprise Louis as much as it does, because you’ve got a mouth made for it and you’re a bloody perfectionist, so of course you’d be excellent at this.  
And somehow this movie has gone from really shitty to damn mind-blowing in a matter of seconds, and yeah – okay this is what he needed.

“Hey – I see us together okay. I see us.”

IV.

“You know what I’m getting sick of this. Getting sick of you always coming home drunk and angry!” You shout tossing your jacket onto the back on the couch, this time you’ve actually had to go bail him out of his own misfortunes.

“You know it would be one thing if you asked me to come out with you. You know maybe bringing your girlfriend might keep you a little less drunk and out of trouble! But I don’t get that privilege do I?” You shouting continues throughout the house as he makes his way towards the bedroom.

He just wants to sleep. 

Just wants the fighting to end, wants to be back in that honeymoon stage where you could go out together and he didn’t have to worry about all the other guys looking at you. Back to when he could go out without you and not have to worry that you’d be mad when he got home.  
Things were always so simple.

“Guess not.” He mumbles, even though yes he knows you do deserve those privileges. But everything has just gotten so hard. “Just stop it okay. What do you want from me. Huh? Why are you always on my back?” He yells shoving his fist through the first thing he’s closest too, which happens to a picture you took the first time he took you backstage to meet the boys.

“I need you to just back off from me okay. Do that – because this…” He motions between the two of you and the shattered glass, “is not okay. We shouldn’t be fighting like this.” 

You go to reply when the phone rings rattling through the flat like a bomb going off. You go to reach for it when his hand gets there first, bumping into yours.

You watch as his mouth moved from ‘yeahs’ to ‘oh shits’ and soon he’s got his back pressed up against the front door and his knees are buckling beneath him.

“No.” He cries, gripping the phone tighter. “No this can’t be happening.” He whines, instantly reaching out for you when you’re within a foot of him, his arms pulling you down to the floor with him. “No – please no.” 

“Lou. Baby what happened?” You ask quietly when his arms circle around your waist and his head dips into the bend in your shoulder. 

“My Dad’s had a heart attack.” He shutters his body raking with sobs again. “He’s gone. He had a heart attack and now he’s gone.” He wails, clutching the back of your shirt like he was hanging from the edge of a cliff and it was his only life line.

“Please don’t ever leave me.” He whispers, whipping his tears on your shirt. “Promise you won’t leave me, like he did. I need you.”

You let your head dip and press your lips to the side of his head, running your fingers through his damp hair.  
“I’ll never leave Lou. I love you.”

V.

“We can’t do this anymore.”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Louis wanted to take them back. He knew that he loved you, he has for over a year, there was something secure about him being with you, something nice. But that was the problem, it was just nice. 

His love for you had blossomed the day you met, he’d felt nothing but thrill being around you. And then the days and weeks passed and he still felt it. 

But then that was all he had felt, it never got stronger and it never got more exhilarating. Everything was very basis.

So he watched you bow your head, scratched your hand across the back of your neck, like you were trying to shield your face from him, like you wanted to hide from him, which you’d never done before. Then you started to nod.

“Yeah,” you said. “Yes. I know. I’m just really glad we were able to be together this long, ya know?” 

He watches as your lips slip down into a frown, your thumbs twirling together, your nails clicking against each other. “This is for real this time. We can say this is the last time for real this time, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He spoke quietly. “I still love you. You know that right. I always have.”

You nod and wipe away a stray tear that has slipped out of your lid, even though you’ve tried really hard to keep it in. 

“Remember a couple months ago, we were watching that shitty movie with the cops.” You nod your head in acceptance remembering back to that night. 

“Well I know where I’ll be in ten years. With the boys, and maybe married with kids. But I – I don’t see you as my wife. Because I see you with someone else.” He scratches his palms over his eyes and continues.

“I don’t mean this in a bad way. You know – I just think – well I think you’re the person I needed to get married and have kids. You’re my best friend. I want you at my wedding and I want to name a kid after you. I love you.”

“But you’re not in love with me anymore?”

“Are you in love with me?”

You ponder for a second before shaking your head. “No. I guess not.” 

“I never wanted this. But we were so happy together. And then it started to show. We lived together and you yelled about where I threw my shoes and stuff and slowly we started to fall apart.”

And here they were, with tear filled eyes and broken hearts. 

Hearts that they knew they couldn’t fix. 

Hearts that would always be connected to one another.


End file.
